The young witch, Bell Carver, has met Ian Nash in a past life—he's an immortal demon and a perfect bastard.
Bell Carver didn't know about love at first sight, but lust at first sight was a fact, and the fact of the matter shows up on her doorstep.
When sexy dominating Ian Nash, special agent of the FBI, drags Bell away in handcuffs, it has nothing to do with law enforcement.
Nash knows Bell is a witch. Ian Nash is more than a mortal man. Bell remembers him from a past life. Something evil has been following Bell life after life, hunting her down by her fiery sexuality, and snuffing her out.
Now that evil has found her again.
Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of witchcraft, light bondage, and one very hot god.
General Release Date: 6th December 2010
Bell didn’t know about love at first sight, but lust at first sight was a fact, and the fact of the matter was on her doorstep. He was dressed like a civilian, standing in the back of a posse of five cops who were pushing their way past Bell into the house. And she let them pass just to get closer to him.
He stood easily six foot four, which gave him nine inches on Bell. She would love to have any nine inches of his on her. Taller than the others, he had a roguish look, his shoulders broad and solid. He stood with an imposing ease. The others were tense as a bundle of ferrets.
“Guys got a warrant?” Bell asked the policemen trooping in.
The cops ignored her, their faces fixed in stony masks as if they were scouting enemy territory. Bell repeated herself as the fourth cop stomped across her threshold, “Guys? Warrant?”
“Don’t need a warrant on college property,” the fifth said.
“Uh, that’s great.” The late winter air through the open doorway was cold. “But this isn’t college property.”
The police tracked slush onto the old wooden floorboards.
Bell supposed she could have tried harder to stop them, but she had gone all dazed and breathless over the guy in the back.
That one stepped over the threshold, formidable, certain. His long trench coat hung open to show a sport coat underneath, a button-down shirt open at the neck, and blue jeans. His shoes—or maybe they were boots—were leather in a western cut with stacked heels. The man was maybe ten years older than she was. That would put him around twenty-nine. There was nothing callow or inexperienced about him, not like the college boys Bell went to class with. This was all man.
The last one in, he closed the door behind himself. The blustery wind gave up with a last gust that lifted Bell’s long coppery hair off her shoulders and dropped it.
While the policemen clotted together in the foyer, the magnificent one strode right into the house as if taking possession. His walk was sultry and sure. He passed under the arch into the sitting room uninvited and looked around casually as if he were in a museum.
The other men were in uniform, except for the older, pear-shaped man with the droopy moustache who flashed his badge. “River Styx PD. Sergeant Benish.”
Bell was not interested in the sergeant’s name. “Him.” Bell pointed straight-armed to the sitting room where the tall man was admiring a painting on the wall. “What’s he? And what’s he doing in here?”
The godlike one made an unexcited reach into the breast pocket of his sport coat. He produced a wallet and dropped it open like they did on TV to show ID.
The big letters jumped out at Bell. FBI.
Sergeant Benish spoke for the man, “That’s Special Agent Ian Nash.”
“So we’re special,” said Bell. Yes, we are. “Okay, we’re growing the ganja in the cellar. That way.” She pointed.
Special Agent Nash’s shoulders moved slightly with a single silent laugh. But the cops exchanged surprised glances, dead serious.
The youngest one of them, a baby-faced freckled guy with a crew cut, took the bait and opened the cellar door. He flipped the light switch on, which should have been his first clue that there was no marijuana growing down there. An underground garden would have been lit up like summertime.
The darkness and the musty smell of a hundred fifty years should have been another clue that she’d fed them a line, but the young policeman was half way down the steps before the stunning Ian Nash came to the rookie’s rescue.
“She’s pulling your dick,” he called. His low sensual baritone made Bell’s nipples hard.
Nash motioned the rookie to come on back up the stairs, like a kindly big brother might look after a younger. “Come on, before she locks you down there.”
Bell would have too.
She daggered Nash a glare for cluing in the clueless.
And Special Agent Ian Nash smiled at her, leaving her airless. His compelling eyes were brown. Mostly brown. Glints of something else lurked in them, green maybe. His eyes looked through her.
Sara lives in Ohio with her adored husband and a white wolf dog named Jeremiah. Sara was a corporate babe for a number of decades but the reaper finally got her on this last pass. She doesn't miss that world. Sara spins and weaves natural fibres and works with natural dyes. She can't cook. Small appliances fear her. Her attempts to work witchcraft generally turn out sideways. Sara Bonney writes hot erotica. Perfectly Wicked is Sara's first story. Her other self, Jez Morrow, writes m/m erotica. Either way the stories are always hot and must end happily ever after.
Reviewed by Night Owl Romance Reviews
...a beautifully penned paranormal romance that will have readers coming back for more...Her characters are believable, intelligent and interesting. The storyline is an alluring, intriguing, smooth...
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